Chapter III
--
The bare flanks of the heavy set horse between her legs gave her a strange comfort. Her ripped breeches a thin barrier between her own skin and the horses flanks.
The horse was nothing more then a cart horse and had likely never seen any blood before in its life. It seemed nervous beneath her, the thick rope of the reins tugging deep lines against her bare hands.
They had given her sword back to her, the strong metal currently nothing more then a comforting weight by her side. She looked strange next to her captors, their expensive armour and unique weaponry must have cost a fortune.
The horses they sat upon were impressive and especially bred for war. Sweat dripped down her shirt as she became more and more nervous, the beating of distant drums causing her horse to panic beneath her.
They had given her nothing but her sword to protect herself with. Hearing heavy hoof beats, she turned seeing the leader of her captors, she frowned before turning away. Her captors had brought the carriages three miles up the road.
Half of the men hiding among the bushes crouched ready to ambush any Gauls if they made it that far. But Mark had her own problems; she meant to escape in the heat of the battle.
It was unlikely that she would get very far, especially considering how close these men were watching her. However she needed to try at the very least; she simply could not accept her fate so easily.
She needed to at least try and get back to Sarmatia. Wrapping a hand around the hilt of her sword, she allowed the cool metal to calm her, the heavy metal against her left hip a satisfying comfort that she would welcome if she ended up in Rome.
They had stationed themselves in a small clearing that the road had come through. A handful of archers had stationed themselves in the trees, hidden by the summer leaves as they waited for their targets to appear.
They were getting closer with the beat of drums and horse hooves easily heard. Mark had even managed to spot a scout among the trees.
Mark had said nothing about it to her captors though. It took less then three minutes after for the Gaul to appear. There weren't many of them, but Mark could see why they had needed her.
If anything it was more like a staring contest at first. The large almost giant like Gaul seemed surprised by their presence. Her captors waited nervously for them to make the first move.
It was almost pathetic, and Mark could not recall something like this ever happening to her before. Digging her nails into the reins, she allowed herself to stare.
Her breath caught in her throat as an arrow suddenly came flying towards them. Hearing the cry of a horse behind her, she pulled out her sword. Her horse pranced nervously from side to side before she kicked it into a gallop.
She led the charge that quickly erupted from the small group. The clearing was small and so it took her little more then a couple seconds before she made it into the crowd.
Beheading a Gaul easily, she continued to cut and hack her way through the crowd, swords and axes coming up to meet her own as she fought her way through.
They where not very well trained, having only raided villages and towns, they very rarely met anyone worth fighting.
Using brute force more then anything, it was hard enough fighting these giant like monsters, they didn't even need training. Clearing her way through the crowd, she turned her horse back towards it. Sweat pouring down her face as she lifted her sword to meet the axe of a giant.
--
A wolf howled in the distance, causing Tristan wake from his dreamless slumber. Cursing under her breath, he got to his feet, his eyes dancing towards the trees when he heard a similar noise, only clearer.
Lancelot was suppose to be on guard, but he was no where to be seen. Sitting next to the pile of barely glowing embers that had once been a fire, Tristan kicked at them, a hiss coming from them as if demanding more fuel.
Ignoring the animas demands he wrapped himself in his cloak. Summer had passed, and fall had quickly followed, the beautiful summer sky disappearing behind curtains of rain that would likely continue until the next year.
It was a cloudy night, but thankfully the rain had kept itself to a minimum. He doubted it would keep up till tomorrow but he was happy that he had managed to sleep for a couple hours. It would make the ride home that much more enjoyable.
It would be a couple more hours before dawn, but Tristan was completely willing to wait, knowing by habit that once he had gotten up there wasn't a chance he could get back to sleep.
Once again he heard the howl of the wolf, causing a horse to whine in fright from behind him. Getting up to sooth the animal he frowned when he heard a yelp in the bush. Turning towards the noise he frowned, his hand grabbing at the dagger by his side.
Rustling, the parting of bushes with an unsteady hand. The amount of noise surprised Tristan, caused him to put his dagger back and pull out his sword. It was only when the animal lay at his feet, arrows embedded in his skin did the knight remember to breath.
"I believe they are Gaul arrows, but I could be wrong." Tristan muttered before pulling one out of the wolf's flanks. Inspecting the tip he frowned at the jagged edge.
"But this one here seems Roman." He continued, pointing to the arrow that was furthest embedded into the wolf's body.
"But the Gauls tend to loot arrows when they kill people." Arthur said, looking over the dead body.
"Either way I say we move, I don't want to meet any of the Gaul or Romans for that matter." Lancelot cut in, rolling his eyes Tristan pulled the last arrow from the body.
"I agree." Arthur nodded, studying the body one more time before lifting his head towards his knights. "Pack your things, we leave in an hour."
--
She woke up late in the night, the stars glittering through the forest trees. Groaning lightly at the throbbing pain in her head, she pushed herself into a sitting position.
A burning pain suddenly bloomed in her ribs and she fell back down. She could see the carriages from the corner of her eyes, a heavy metal cuff around her ankle tying her to a tree as she stared up into the sky.
She heard someone come towards her and turned her head in their direction. Her head pounded at every footstep that he took towards her.
Closing her eyes before opening them again to study the man that bent down beside her, she was more than surprised when he pressed a cup of water to her lips.
"Where are we?" She coughed, after finishing the water. Her eyes studying her surroundings, as she looked for some sort of landmark that might just hint to her where they were.
"French Gaul," he replied with a shrug, shaking the last drops of water from the cup.
"Already?" she asked, surprised by how far they had come. He shrugged again ignoring the comment.
"When do we arrive in Rome?" She asked, knowing this was her only chance to ask questions.
"A couple weeks, give or take," he said before he turned to leave.
Gritting her teeth she laid back down, the sky above her shining.
She couldn't exactly remember what had happened. She knew her horse was dead and that it had fallen on top of her. But there wasn't much else she could remember; she was lucky to be alive.
In just hours she was returned to the carriage, new bandages wrapped around the wounds that she had. Alba was not a woman she expected and it almost made Mark smile.
She had though Alba as someone entirely different. But Alba was the last thing Mark would have imagined. Her blonde hair and brilliant blue eyes would have made Lancelot go crazy.
Her captors did not tie her to wall like they had before opting this time to tie her hands and feet together in leather bonds that dug into her arms and legs.
It was strange to see the people around her, the ones she knew and not known existed. There were more people then she had expected. Some were sleeping; others were barely able to stay awake due to the obvious lack of food.
They didn't move for another hour or two, it seemed like ages till they got anywhere. The sudden beat of horse's hooves against the dirt road and the movement of the carriage startled her from her sleep.
--
Gawain had never been good at these things, but after four months it was obvious to everyone that Mark wasn't coming back. Arthur announced his death three days after they got back to the wall.
They had dug a grave, turned the earth. Even if there was no one to bury, Lancelot had broken into his room, taking his sword to place deep into the earth. Like the others it was doomed to rust, but it was a memory of a friend they would all soon try to forget.
Gawain had stayed behind, allowing the others to disappear to the tavern. He didn't exactly know what to do with a grave that held no body. But it seemed strange to remember a man, a friend that could still be alive.
He probably spent too much time there, thinking about home, family and why he didn't just leave. It slowly became dark, leaving the knight with little warmth. He left the grave, but instead of joining his friends he went where he knew no one else would be.
--
The stables were abandoned this late at night, some of the horses already half asleep, illuminated under the torch light. Their tails still flicked casually against the flies that settled on their coats.
Though his horse came to greet him, Gawain spent little time with the beast, instead turning to a horse that had normally ignored him.
The large beast raised its head from its nap when Gawain pushed in the stable door. Staring him down, the horse got to its feet, towering over the knight while inspecting him.
The horse snorted, as if to ask 'what do you want?' Gawain could only smile, pushing a handful of oats to the horse's snout who chewed it down with out a thought. Grabbing its bridle, Gawain quickly saddled the horse.
--
People were always depressed after someone died. True he wasn't exactly in his happiest of moods, but Galahad but had never truly understood the emotions of people around him.
Perhaps that was why the others always presumed him to be young and foolish. Now that Arthur had officially declared Mark dead, he really was the youngest now and it didn't settle well with him.
He did miss Mark, everyone did. But everyone always seemed to like someone a lot more once they were dead. It was yet another thing Galahad did not fully understand, but for now he was alone, stuck at the wall, with his own thoughts. Thoughts that no morally inclined man could ever agree with.
Arthur had joined him at least an hour ago. They stood side by side silently. Galahad had never been good with talking to Arthur and Arthur like wise.